


Just Deserts

by NotTasha



Series: Feast Series [2]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen, Revenge, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 18:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5794354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTasha/pseuds/NotTasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the events of "Ezra's Feast", Ezra is having a tough time recovering.  And then someone comes looking for him and all the objects stolen by the Varness Gang</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Deserts

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMERS: This is fanfiction. No profit involved. Who in their right mind would pay me anyway? It is based on the television series "The Magnificent Seven". No infringement upon the copyrights held by CBS, TNN, Showtime Extreme, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp. or any others involved with that production is intended.   
> RATING: PG-13 for Language and a bit of violence  
> MAJOR CHARACTERS: Ezra, JD and Chris  
> SUMMARY: Sequel to Ezra's Feast. What happens when someone comes looking for all that stuff that Edmund Varness stole?  
> NOTE: yes, this is the correct spelling for the phrase "just deserts"  
> DATE: Originally posted July 6, 2001

PART 1:

Chris opened the door of the clinic and walked quietly into the room. At first glance, anyone would think the room was unoccupied. The sparse room was neat, as always, with the exception of the bed. The blankets were heaped in the middle, as if someone had pulled them out of place in order to haul them off to the laundry. 

With any luck, the lump beneath the blankets would remain motionless and asleep. Chris moved quietly into the room, doing his best to keep from disturbing the occupant.

Unfortunately, the knot of blankets shifted. Chris waited, hoping that the movement would stop. Let him sleep a bit this time, he thought. The movement continued though and, after a quiet moan, Chris realized that there'd be no reprieve. 

Finally, as the bundle continued to churn about, Larabee asked, "You okay?"

"Fine," was the muffled reply, edgy and pain-filled, letting Larabee know that the situation hadn't improved. "Just fine." The normally confident and jovial voice sounded so defeated and weak. "Where'd you go?" 

"Privy," was the short answer. "Took a walk." Larabee purposefully left off the fact that he had stopped for a bite to eat as well.

"You haven't brought in any of that horrendous soup?"

"I come unarmed," Chris countered.

The knot of blankets shuffled and the corner was thrown back just far enough to reveal a green and blood-shot eye. Larabee was scrutinized for a moment and then the blanket was tugged back over the hidden head. "No soup," Ezra said tiredly. "Can't abide the smell of it."

"I know," Chris replied as he made his way toward the chair. His side still ached. Only a few days had passed since he had been shot, but the bullet wound was healing nicely. Nathan had been impressed by the close-knit stitches, figuring that the man who placed them had been a surgeon at one point.

"Lucky," Nathan had told him. "You and JD didn't get nothin' more than grazed."

Still, it didn't help the fact that it hurt like hell.

"Gettin' any better?" Chris asked hopefully.

A bitter chuckle. "No. Sorry to disappoint. It's just the same."

Damn, Chris thought. 'The same' wasn't what he wanted to hear. He watched the blankets move as Ezra tried to find a comfortable position and failed, muttering incomprehensibly, swearing exasperatedly.

For the past three days now, Ezra had been unable to keep much of anything down. He could handle a little water, as long as it was warm -- but not too hot. Ever since his fateful meeting with Edmund Varness, Ezra had been sicker than a dog. 

Ezra moaned again, as he pulled himself into a ball.

"Let me know if you gotta…"

"No. It's just--God!" The blankets shifted and he seemed to be shaking again.

"Have you been able to get any sleep?"

"Can't," was the reply.

"How about some water?"

There was no reply, so Chris took that to be a 'yes'. He checked to see if the towel-wrapped kettle at the bed stand was still warm. It had cooled, but would probably pass as acceptable. He poured some water into a glass and sat down in the chair, gritting his teeth to keep from groaning as his side protested. "Ezra?" 

Ezra unknotted himself. He sat up slowly, pulling the blanket around himself as he moved. The blanket fell away from his face, and Chris noted that he looked like hell. His eyes were sunken and red, his skin had a pasty greenish tinge to it, his hair was matted to his head. He scooted backward until he was sitting with his back against the headboard and then looked over to Chris with tired eyes. "Okay," he said.

Chris sighed, still not used to the terse statements from the usually verbose gambler. "Here ya go," he said as he handed him the glass. 

Ezra took it with a shaky hand and sipped at its contents. "It's getting cold," he mentioned.

"I'll have 'em send up a new kettle," Larabee responded.

Ezra nodded and sipped tentatively at the glass for a few minutes and then handed it back to Chris, who set it on the little stand. And without another word, Ezra sunk back beneath the blankets, curling up in the center of the bed.

Once he was still, Larabee spoke, "Anything I can do?"

The response was so quiet and muffled by the blankets that Chris hardly heard it. He probably wasn't meant to hear in any case. "Make it stop," Ezra muttered.

"Wish I could," Chris responded truthfully. 

Chris silently sat, while Ezra breathed harshly. He felt so hopeless, just waiting for everything to get better, knowing that he was responsible for Ezra's current condition. Why the hell did he do it? How could this nomadic gambler risk his life so easily? So utterly? Wouldn't it have been smarter to turn and leave when the odds looked so desperately against him? 

No good deed goes unpunished.

 

PART 2:

Edmund Varness and his well-trained team of men had attacked the town of Vineville and carried off anything of value. Every store in town was looted. Private residences were ransacked, the jail and church were burned, and the bank was dynamited. Every coin, bill and piece of jewelry was taken. Citizens were killed -- men, women and children. Little was left behind. Those that saw the carnage were appalled by the violence visited upon the small town. It was difficult to fathom how mere men could perpetrate such evil.

The gang collected the spoils and loaded it into wagons. They then began their mad dash across the territory, hoping to make it to Mexico and outrun the law. Peacekeepers died in the pursuit. The army was called out to stop them. The twelve men, weary from their horrible flight, holed up in the Martinez Compound to rest. And it was there that all twelve men died.

They died quickly and bloodlessly. The twelve were buried without their names. No one mourned.

The army, which had arrived in a glorious fusillade -- and proved to be completely ineffective -- left. The lawmen of Four Corners were pressed into service to finish the job. Two of the lawmen suffered from gunshot wounds and had to move slowly, another of the men could hardly move at all and spent that day in the shade of one of the wagons, curled up in a ball, retching and wishing the world would go away.

It took one long day to bury the dead and to root through the things that they had left behind, to pack it up on the wagons and horses and to finally bring everything to Four Corners for dispensation. It was a slow and tedious process and the men had other matters on their minds.

Ezra Standish was sick. Nathan did what he could, but the rattling journey in the back of the wagon was agonizing for him, as were the days that followed. He trembled, and moaned, hardly able to sleep due to his headache and the clenching pain in his stomach. His skin took on an unhealthy tone and clammy texture as he suffered through an endless bout of vomiting that left him weak and miserable.

For five days Standish was sick, so very ill that Jackson was afraid for his life. The six of them took turns keeping an eye on the gambler, and forgave him his atrocious moods. 

"Never should've let him do it," Jackson said during the long discussion that Larabee had forced on them afterward. "Soon as I knew what he was planning I should've called an end to it. It's a damn sight worse than I ever expected. I always considered myself a healer, and I nearly killed a friend of mine with something I had made."

Ezra started improving on the sixth day, but it wasn't until seven days after the deadly meal that Standish was able to eat a little barley broth without retching it up immediately. He finally climbed out from beneath the blankets that had cocooned him and return to his own room.

And even a week after that, he still had no appetite and continued to lose weight. He kept to a bland diet, and slept most of the day. He avoided the town's restaurant and drank nothing stronger than imported Chinese tea. If anyone brought an aromatic dish into the saloon, he would pick up and leave immediately, without a word. God help him if anyone even mentioned brandy. It would be enough to send Standish running to the alleyway beside the saloon. 

His friends were worried about him, but at least he was improving, at least he was able to stand and walk about without grasping any support with a white knuckled grip.

It was at this time, two weeks after the destruction of Vineville, after the siege at the Martinez Compound, after Varness and all his men were killed by the subterfuge of one man -- that Tyrone Bakkus came to town.

 

PART 3:

Chris carried the small plate of toast and scrambled eggs to the table at the back of the saloon and set it beside the gambler, who eyed it suspiciously.

"Thank you, Mr. Larabee," Ezra said, as he bridged his deck of cards, "But I've already eaten breakfast."

Chris regarded Ezra, who dealt out another game of solitaire. It was two weeks since Standish had nearly succumbed to his own con. The gambler's face was hollow, his eyes sunken, and his clothing hung on him as if on a hanger. His skin still seemed unnaturally pale and he hadn't gained back any of his normal energy.

"I saw what you ate for breakfast," Chris said, pushing the plate over the cards, careful to avoid the teacup that sat at his elbow. "And half a biscuit ain't going to do you any good."

"It's all I require."

"It wouldn't keep a sparrow going."

"Nonetheless, I'm not hungry," Ezra said, pushing the plate back to where it was originally sitting and tried to straighten his cards.

"Damn it, Ezra, you have to be hungry. You haven't eaten more than a couple of mouthfuls for the past two weeks. Hell, this ain't hardly anything here. Buck could eat this without even noticing it."

"Mr. Wilmington's gluttonous abilities are beyond me."

"Ezra…"

"He'd eat just about anything and ask for seconds." Ezra flipped the next card and concentrated on the two of diamonds as if it would find a place to alight if he only tried hard enough. He frowned at the crooked rows.

"Ezra, stop messing around and just eat this stuff."

Standish sighed. "Honestly, Chris, I just can't seem to build up any desire for it."

"Desire it or not, you're gonna eat." Chris leaned forward and scooped up the cards that Ezra was fiddling into position. Then he pushed the plate back in front of him. Ezra eyed the dish as if it might bite him.

"Ezra, come on, try some of this. I had 'em fix it up the way you like," Chris encouraged. "Dry as the desert and there's not very much of them either, so you got no reason to refuse." More than once, Ezra had declined a meal simply because there was "too much of it". 

Ezra touched the rim of the plate as if he didn't know what to do with it. The dish was decorated with little blue cornflowers, all strung together around the edge. He focused on the pretty flowers and tried to ignore the food at the center. It was best to ignore food whenever possible.

He glanced up at Larabee and saw 'that look.' If he had more gumption, he might try to wheedle his way out of this, but the expression let him know that he wouldn't be let off easily. He hadn't the strength to fight.

Chris watched as Ezra half-heartedly picked up the fork and tentatively ate a few bites. He chewed far longer than necessary and followed each swallow with a sip of tea and a bite of toast. They'd had to send away to San Francisco for a variety of teas imported from China. It was the only thing that seemed to settle Ezra's queasy stomach.

Ezra consumed about a fourth of the eggs before he started poking them around, trying to make it look like he had eaten more than he actually had. He shoved a bit of it surreptitiously under one slice of toast. 

"Stop it, Ezra," Chris admonished. "Remember, I've had a kid. I know the tricks."

Ezra gave up his rearranging and continued with his nibbling until he had managed to finish at least half of the meager meal. Then, he shook his head and set down the fork. "It's all I can manage," he said and turned an unhappy eye on Larabee. 

Chris nodded and moved the plate away, setting it at an empty table beside them. He knew that if the meal remained, the sight of the unfinished food would only make Standish nauseous.   
"So, how you feelin' today?" Chris asked. 

"Well enough," Ezra replied. 

Chris knew that it wasn't much of an answer. But it was better than 'like I want to die'.

The batwing doors parted and he looked up as well-dressed man entered the saloon. The stranger was a big man, with close-cropped brown hair and a disdainful expression. He went to the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey and chatted with the bartender. 

Chris saw the bartender point toward their table and the man looked over his shoulder at them, but didn't make any move to come toward them. The stranger's eyes only glanced over Chris, settling on Ezra for a moment before he faced forward again. Larabee stiffened, thinking that he saw a malicious gleam in the man's eyes. 

Ezra retrieved his cards and started setting out another game. 

The stranger paid his bill and left.

Larabee frowned, watching the big man's quick departure. He stood, without speaking to Ezra, and crossed the saloon. 

"Hey, Joe," Chris called to the bartender. "Who was that?"

The bartender shrugged. "Said his name was Tyrone Brown. Don't know him though. Ain't seen him before." 

"What was he askin' about?" 

"Oh, the news." 

"News?" 

Joe smiled. "You know, the big news in town -- Varness. He heard about it in the Clarion and wanted to see the man who took out the whole gang." The bartender nodded toward Ezra, looking rather proud of the saloon patron.

Chris looked back to the table, where Ezra was once again involved in a game of solitaire. He moved slowly and deliberately, as if every motion cost him precious energy. It was almost comical to think that someone who looked as unwell as Ezra could have managed to kill twelve men.

"Keep an eye on Mr. Standish for me," Larabee said.

"Sure thing, Mr. Larabee," Joe pledged with a nod. "You know I do." 

Larabee headed out into the street to see where this Tyrone Brown had gone, but the man was nowhere in sight.

 

PART 4:

Bakkus was beside himself with anger. How dare he! How dare he sit there in that saloon as if nothing had happened! He killed twelve men without batting an eye, robbed me of everything I own!. The coward! Hiding away under the protection of a gunslinger, dispensing his death in the most craven manner -- poisoner! 

Tyrone paced back and forth in his hotel room.

Standish had ruined everything. The spoils of Vineville, now ensconced in the Four Corner jail, only further reminded him of his loss. Edmund Varness was to receive a third of the bounty for leading the expedition, his men were to split the second third, but Bakkus -- for financing everything -- had the final third reserved for himself.

He paused and glared out the window to the saloon where Standish sat at his table, unconcerned. He's ruined me, Bakkus thought, that son-of-a-bitch! A lifetime of toil destroyed by a fop. 

Tyrone had started out as a dirt-farmer, but had worked his whole life, building, generating capital, expanding his little worthless farm to a successful cattle ranch. He had become a respected man. Then he met Varness -- smooth as an eel Varness. Varness knew all the right words, knew just what to say. Soon, Tyrone had emptied his bank account and sold most of his cattle to pay for the weapons, the wagons and the horses to back the mission that Varness had outlined.

It would be simple. Vineville was like a plum waiting on a tree -- or perhaps a tomato on a vine. It was ripe for the taking. The town was remote, but rich -- mighty rich. 

But a certain son-of-a-bitch ruined it all with his cowardly poison. 

Bankrupt! There had been no money to pay his ranch hands and the grain bins were emptying at an alarming rate. There was nothing to give to the green grocer or the butcher. His housekeeper had come to him, with tears in her eyes, saying that his lawyer had yelled at her for not bringing his regular monthly payment.

Bakkus could hardly walk down the street of his hometown without running into someone to whom he suddenly owed cash. He was back to where he had started, back to the days when he couldn't afford a new shirt, back to the beginning. But this was worse -- much worse. He had always been respected, even when he was poor. They laughed at him now -- he was certain of it.

No one respected a rich man who was suddenly made poor. Varness had promised him that the venture would be successful. And it was -- up until Standish, the yellow-bellied conman, came on the scene.

Tyrone couldn't go home to face his creditors! He had to come to Four Corners to retrieve the wealth of Vineville, to take his share of it -- and to make Standish pay for the degradation he had suffered.

 

PART 5:

"Hey, Ezra!" Buck said, plopping himself down in the seat beside the gambler. "I was about to order up some of that temptin' stew that Joe's so famous for and I was wonderin' if you'd like to join me."

Ezra flipped over a card and replied, "Mr. Wilmington, our esteemed leader has recently forced breakfast on me. I find lunch completely out of the question at this moment."

"Hell, Ez," Buck scoffed. "Been a couple hours since Chris came by here."

Ezra raised an eyebrow. "Ah, I see I'm still under scrutiny." He opened his watch. "Besides, it's only eleven o'clock."

"Red eight," Buck said helpfully as Ezra revealed another card.

Ezra moved the turned seven onto the eight. "Lunch doesn't traditionally begin until noon."

"Okay, then, it's a date! I'll be orderin' up two bowls at high-noon and I'll get a couple of hunks of that bread that Inez is so proud of. I'm expectin' your company."

Standish rolled his eyes. "A date with Buck Wilmington. All my dreams have been fulfilled. I'll be certain to record it in my journal."

Buck gave him a hearty slap on the back. "It'll probably take up a page or two. God, we gotta get you built back up, hoss! You're skinny enough that if you turned the right way, you'd plum disappear. If a strong wind would blow through here, it'd pick you up and take you halfway to Mexico. You'd make a right colorful kite!"

"Perhaps in Mexico, I'd be left to my own devises."

"Naw," Buck returned. "Wouldn't give up that easy. We'd find you there, too "

Ezra paused in his playing and looked up to Buck, a smile twisting the edges of his mouth. "I suppose you would."

Buck was delighted. It'd been a long time since he'd seen Standish even attempt a smile. "You got that right! And you know, if I don't find you at lunchtime, I'll hunt you down, hog tie you, and make you eat." 

"I'd find it rather difficult to attempt Mr. Rutledge's stew in that position. It's thick but..." Ezra raised an eyebrow. 

"I'll get Nate or Josiah to spoon feed ya!"

A grimace followed that comment. "I'll be sure to be found then," Ezra responded. "And thus relieve you of the need to 'hog tie' me."

Buck gave Ezra another slap on the back, aware of the fact that Ezra felt far too insubstantial. Two damn weeks and he's hardly anything but skin and bones! He knew that Ezra was sometimes a light eater, but it surprised him to see how quickly he faded without those meals. At least, Buck thought, he'd consented to eating lunch. That's a step in the right direction. Better than disappearing every time a meal is about to be served. Maybe everything would be okay now.

"I'll see ya then," Buck declared and Ezra nodded in response. Wilmington stood and sauntered across the saloon to where Chris stood against the bar. "We're gonna have lunch," he stated.

"Never thought I'd see the day when I was happy just to hear that." Chris started toward the door, gesturing for Wilmington to follow.

"He's gettin' better," Wilmington declared, following Larabee onto the boardwalk. "Another day or two and he'll be eatin' all those dainty things he usually goes for, or digging into a mess of beans and a steak with the rest of us."

"Better be soon. Another few days like this and he'll dry up and float away." Larabee stopped at the alleyway between the saloon and the assayer's office. He turned to Wilmington and said, "It shouldn't have happened, Buck." 

"Wasn't a way around it. We've been over this already, Chris." Buck groaned at the memory of the 'discussion' that followed their return to Four Corners. Chris had raged at them, trying to get an answer as to why the entire scheme had been allowed. Ezra was too sick to offer any answers and the others could only look sheepish and declare that it sounded like a good idea at the time.

Buck continued, "We tried might, and got turned away. We needed a sneaky little bastard." 

"Shouldn't have happened the way it did. Shouldn't have been just him in there alone."

"We needed to get you and JD out. Needed to stop Varness before he killed anyone else."

"Damn it, Buck." Larabee lowered his voice to a growl. "He stood there. He toasted the sons-of-bitches and drank it down." 

"He was going to try to get around that bit. Besides, he knew that Nate was just outside the door…"

"What if one of those men didn't drink the crap? What if my damn hands were still tied?"

"He figured you were loose…"

"Figured, but didn't know. My God, he was barely breathing when I got to him." Chris slumped against the wall of the assayer's office and closed his eyes, remembering. Standish had scared the shit out of him. 

Chris murmured, "He could've died."

Wilmington tucked his thumbs under his gun belt. "We do that sorta thing everyday, Chris -- any time we walk into a situation with our guns drawn."

"But do you willingly stick the goddamn gun into your mouth?" Chris' eyes snapped open, intense with a sudden rage. "How in the hell did you let him do it? I need you to watch out for these idiots when I'm not there to do it." He rubbed his side, feeling the pull of the healing wound. "How did he think of risking his life like that?" 

Buck was silent for a moment and then finally replied, "Weighed the odds. He plays the numbers pretty good. Maybe he just figured that the odds were in our favor?" He lowered his voice and added, "Two for one." 

"I don't care much for those odds, Buck," Chris grumbled.

"Can't say I care for 'em either."

Chris looked out across the street, remembering what he'd wanted to tell to Buck. "There's a fella in town -- Tyrone Brown. He was askin' questions about this whole Varness mess, asked about Ezra. Joe pointed him out."

"What's he look like?"

"Built like Josiah -- maybe bigger. Hair's brown and short, clean-shaven. Looks like he's got money. Might be a rancher."

"I'll keep an eye out for him."

"Could be nothin'. Could be that he was just interested in the story. Didn't like the way he looked at Ezra."

"I'll watch for him."

Chris nodded and clamped a hand on Buck's shoulder and the two continued on their way.

 

PART 6:

Ezra pocketed his cards and stood carefully. He reminded himself not to get sick from the change in position. There had been a time when any change in altitude brought bile to his throat, and he was still cautious of it. As he made his way toward the door, the bartender called to him, asking if he needed anything. 

"No, no thank you, Mr. Rutledge," Ezra returned. "I simply require some air."

He stood a moment in the doorway, breathing. The confines of the saloon did become rather musty and he could certainly use a stroll around the town.

He turned away from the clinic and headed toward the jail. He had spent far too much time in Nathan's little room and wanted nothing to do with it if he could help it. The first week had been sheer misery. It was a blur to him -- an endless chain of illness. He didn't so much sleep as fall into a confused and half-hallucinatory state, interrupted by bouts of vomiting, wrenching pains and pounding headaches. He had been deplorably weak and unable to do anything except shiver and roll over in bed.

Various concoctions had been foisted upon him, all with less than stellar results. One of them had given him the dry heaves for over an hour. Nathan had apologized profusely, holding a cool wet cloth against the back of his neck. He remembered Nathan's calm voice and the fact that he was hardly able to sit up because of the tremors, but Nathan had gripped him tightly -- had not released him until it was over.

He wasn't sure, but it seemed that Josiah had been praying at some point. Lord, he hoped that wasn't the case. The man certainly could make better use of his petitions. 

Chris and JD had both needed to recover from their wounds and had been sent to their own beds, so that they didn’t have to suffer through Ezra's illness as well. Still, it seemed to Ezra that they didn't remain away and had quickly returned to the rotation of faces that blurred in and out of his consciousness. 

Josiah, Chris and JD all had read at his bedside. JD's dime store novels were confused into Josiah's Shakespeare and Chris' epic tales until it became one unintelligible mess in his brain. He was almost certain that someone had read a scene where Iago was holed up in a bank, shooting it out with Jason and the Argonauts. 

Buck had sat beside him, talking about anything -- lovely ladies, his adventures with Chris, recitations of recent encounters against foiled 'bad guys', and other quieter things, too. Apparently, Wilmington had forgiven him for puking on his boots. Vin had tried to play the harmonica, but the sound had only increased his headache, so the tracker stopped and instead sat silently at his bedside, often resting a hand on him and quickly jumping up if he thought anything was needed. 

And Nathan was there most of the time. Did the healer get any rest?

Nobody seemed to mind the fact that he spent most of his time buried under the blankets, refusing to pull his head free.

He'd have to find a way to apologize to them all for the trouble he'd put them through. God, how would he ever manage that? 

After that first horrendous week, he had felt well enough to return to his own room, where he had hoped to remain undisturbed. But the others had seen fit to drag him out and try to get him to eat. Didn't they understand that food was the enemy? If he didn’t eat, then he wouldn't have to throw up, wouldn't get 'the trots' -- thus saving himself the degradation of being so horribly ill. It was all a mean cycle that he decided to avoid as much as possible.

He wondered how he would be able to get out of lunch with Buck…

 

PART 7:

Slowly, Ezra walked to the jail and pushed open the door. A boisterous greeting met his ears, as JD bounded to his feet.

"Hey, Ez!" The young man shouted. "How ya doin'?" A healing scar on the young man's forehead, half-hidden now in his dark bangs, was the only remnant of his injury. He moved quickly away from his chair. "Ya want to sit?"

"I believe I'll be able to keep my feet beneath me for a few moments more, Mr. Dunne," Ezra muttered as he approached the left-hand cell and sucked his breath in at the sight. "It still amazes me that you were able to fit all of it in."

The cell was filled to the ceiling with trunks, boxes, crates and loose items. Piled here, there and everywhere were candelabras, silk dresses, fine haberdashery, saddles and expensive tack, a small table, a coat rack, embroidered linens, a velvet curtain, gold and silver accoutrements, cigarette cases and fine lacquered boxes. The spoils of Vineville deposited in one small space.

His eyes widened and his heart beat a little faster at the sight of so many valuables. If he'd felt better, he could convince JD to take a walk and allow him to become more familiar with the contents of the left-hand cell. It would appear that some if the items would fit quite handily into his pockets. Lord, he must be truly ill if he couldn't make use of this situation.

"Took a while, but we got it to fit. Shoved in the little stuff wherever it'd go and left a path up the middle." JD laughed. "We figured we'd have to keep one of the cells open for … well, people… and this was the only place in town that's big enough to secure everything."

"The disbursement of these artifacts to their proper owners will take…" Ezra squinted at the magnitude of the project, "Nigh on a year." 

"Chris figured he'd put you on it since you're the only one who likes to do boring paperwork stuff." 

Ezra raised an eyebrow and JD smiled to see that incredulous look. "Me, Mr. Dunne? Certainly, you jest. Would Mr. Larabee actually trust me to manage all this..." he waved a hand "...considerable wealth?" 

JD laughed. "Figures you're too sick to run with any of it...or maybe too smart." He poked at a pile of papers on the desk. "Here's a list of all that's in there." 

Ezra sighed as he looked at the papers. "Let me guess, you've done nothing to categorize or organize." He gestured to the cell. "There's no rhyme nor reason to it, is there?"

"We had to get it all in," JD declared. "Wouldve gone to you for advice on how to do it, 'cept you were a bit under the weather at that time." 

"That's an understatement," Ezra muttered. He perused the list, reading the descriptions aloud, "One box of jewelry some with big stones might be diamonds, box that plays a nice song, gold watch -- looks fancy, pretty picture of boats, a pouch with a bunch of money in it." He grimaced at the descriptions. "And all of this is in there?" He exclaimed and turned back to the cell. "Lord knows where…"

These lists would do no good whatsoever when the owners or inheritors came calling. No, this would need to be properly catalogued and cross-referenced. He frowned at the tightly packed items. It would take weeks to organize! The very thought of it made him weary. God, he was exhausted.

He sighed and finally sat down in the chair that JD had vacated for him. He tossed his hat to the table and absently rubbed his eyes.

JD leaned against the desk. "Still not feelin' so good?"

"I'm a little tired, Mr. Dunne," Ezra explained truthfully.

"Nathan says that you'd feel better if you were eating more. Says you're not eating just because you're bein' stubborn about it, and you're just makin' things worse."

Ezra groaned and didn't move his hand from his face. "Mr. Jackson can go to hell." He said the words without any true conviction. He let the hand that grasped the list fall to the desk. 

JD retrieved the pages from his unresisting grasp and set them aside. Dunne waited a minute for Ezra to say something else, but he remained silently rubbing his eyes. 

When's he ever gonna start feeling better? JD recalled the fear of seeing Ezra so dreadfully ill a week ago. It was startling to see the energetic and quick-witted gambler so wasted with sickness, so desperate and pitiful. Pitiful was a word that he normally would not have associated with Ezra. JD hated it. 

"I don't want you to be sick anymore, Ez." 

"You and I both."

JD silently watched his friend as he miserably rubbed his eyes. "All of this is my fault," Dunne stated. "Chris and I wouldn't have gotten captured if I weren't so far forward that day, and you wouldn't have half-killed yourself to get us free." 

Ezra finally removed his hand from his face and stared at JD. "It was a means to an ends, Mr. Dunne. The goal was attained and everything worked out all right." 

"Yeah, 'cept you’re still sick after all this time. Won't be 'right' if you end up starvin' 'cause I was too far forward." 

Ezra smiled. "I won't starve, Mr. Dunne. In fact I've already made lunch plans with Mr. Wilmington. I'm certain that all the ladies in town will be jealous." 

JD returned the smile. "Yeah? And you actually are gonna eat, right?" 

A roll of the eyes and Ezra responded, "If I find the meal acceptable." 

JD sighed. He studied the gambler as Ezra gazed wearily back. The short walk to the jail had apparently been enough to tire out Ezra. He looked just about ready to drop. 

"If you want," JD said finally, "I could get you some tea, if it would make you feel better." 

Ezra rested his arms on the desk. "Yes," he quietly stated. "That might be of some benefit."

"Great, I'll go get it right now."

Ezra smiled at JD's enthusiasm at such a simple thing. "I'll watch the store while you're away."

JD jumped away from the desk and headed to the door. "I'll be back in a couple minutes, okay."

Ezra nodded and once JD was gone, he leaned forward and rested his head on his arms.

 

PART 8:

From his room in the hotel, Tyrone had seen the gambler leave the saloon and walk slowly down the street, finally entering the jail. After waiting a few minutes, the cattleman straightened his jacket and left the building to follow the man.

He approached the building with trepidation. One usually didn't think of a jail as a good place to meet your enemy, but the rewards he sought were there as well. He could kill two birds with one stone if he were to confront Standish there. 

He had almost reached the building when a young man burst out the jail and nearly ran into him.

"Sorry, sir," the kid said, spinning out of the way and coming to a quick halt. "Really, I didn't see you there."

"Should look where you're going," Tyrone growled. This is one of them, he thought, noting the kid's scarred head, one of those lawmen.

"I'm awful sorry," the kid said again. "I was just in a hurry is all. It won't happen again."

"See that it don't," Tyrone returned. The kid nodded and returned to the direction he had been headed, at a slower pace.

Tyrone continued on his way, smiling. Now that the pup had left the jail, that gambler might be there alone. He stood before the door, long enough to secretively pull his gun from its holster, holding it inside his jacket as he pushed open the door. He held his breath and peered within. 

It was better than he might have hoped. The man was alone, sitting with his head resting on the desk, cradled in his arms. As Tyrone quietly pulled the door shut behind him, Standish asked with his head still in his arms, "Back so soon, Mr. Dunne?" 

Bakkus pulled his gun out from hiding at stepped forward. Ezra lifted his head and looked at him in surprise. He shot back in his seat, bringing one arm in front of him and springing a hidden derringer into his hand.

But he wasn't fast enough. Bakkus was already on top of him and slammed the butt of his gun down on the side of the gambler's head, knocking him back to the desk. "You son-of-a-bitch," Bakkus barked.

Bakkus quickly peeled the little gun from Ezra's hands as the man fought to regain his senses. Roughly, he jerked Ezra upright, relieving him of the other weaponry. Ezra moved dumbly, trying to figure out what was going on, blinking and fighting feebly at the hands that accosted him.

"What else do you have hidden?" Bakkus growled as he shook the addled man. "Got a knife in your boot? Another gun at your back? Huh? Ya little snake, what else are you hiding?" He quickly searched him, throwing open his jacket, checking for anything hidden at the tops of his boots. No knife, but his fingers found a wad of money. He yanked it free and pocketed the cash. Bakkus considered it a first installment, but decided he deserved more from the man.

Bakkus glanced at the cell filled with booty and then back at the Ezra who was struggling to get up. "So, they got it all locked up, huh? Well, not for long." He continued, running his hands through Ezra's pockets, bringing up cards, a flask, and various other small devises. He found a key and exclaimed joyfully until he tried to insert it into the lock and found it far too small -- obviously a room key. 

No key! He had no key! 

He glowered back at Standish who was valiantly trying to gain his feet. Bakkus needed to get that cell open and he'd have it opened one way or another.

 

PART 9:

Ezra could distinguish the door as it jumped and twisted in his vision. He pushed himself off the desk and made his way toward the exit. If he could just get clear of this mad man, he might have a chance to to get his hands on a weapon, to warn the others and save his own sorry ass. He stumbled, his legs refusing to operate correctly.

"Where are the damn keys?" Bakkus demanded as he intercepted him. He gripped Ezra by his lapels. He pulled him off his feet and shook him hard enough to rattle his teeth. Ezra clenched his jaw, as he tried to find the floor beneath his boots. "I want those keys to the damn cell, and I want 'em now!"

What the hell is going on? Ezra thought. Who is this? God! His head hurt and his vision was so blurred that it was pointless to keep his eyes open. He shut them, hoping that without the twisted visual clues, he might be able to coordinate his movements, but he couldn't manage well enough to form any sort of an attack.

Tyrone hauled him the short distance to the cell and then slammed his back against the door. Ezra's eyes opened languidly, blood dripping down the side of his face. "Give me the goddamn keys!" Bakkus growled. 

"Has our Lord damned the keys?" Ezra asked in a reasonable tone. "It seems a rather odd thing for him to do." 

Bakkus leaned into Ezra, his voice low and ominous, "You think you're funny? Huh? You think this is anything to laugh at?" 

"Not that, no," Ezra replied. Without warning, Ezra brought his knee up sharply, meeting a particularly tender part of Bakkus' anatomy. Bakkus howled and released him. Ezra spun away, thankful to be clear of his attacker. He knew that this might be his only opportunity and he would make use of it.

Bakkus, still battling the waves of pain, made a grab for Standish, but Ezra swung, bringing one powerful blow to the man's cheek, driving him to his knees. 

Staggering away, Ezra dropped, unable to keep his balance. Damn it, damn it, damn it! The door was so close, but his legs refused to hold him. He could hardly tell up from down and his vision was swimming. The whole room tilted against him in a macabre jest. He tried to get to his feet again and flee, but Bakkus recovered faster than Ezra would have thought possible.

Tyrone caught the escaping man, dragged him to his feet and viciously slammed him against the bars. "You little piece of shit!" he growled. "You'll pay for that!" 

Ezra yelped and struggled all the harder, but Bakkus had a firm grip and wasn't about to let go. Good Lord, he thought, the man must have brass balls! Or worse -- no balls whatsoever. 

Ezra could see the rage in Bakkus' eyes, the unabashed hatred. Perhaps, he thought disconnectedly, that wasn't such a good idea, and he steeled himself against what he knew was coming. 

Bakkus slammed Ezra into the bars, repeating until he slumped senselessly in his grasp. 

Tyrone shook him. "Wake up!" he demanded. "I want you awake! You need to feel every minute of this!" But Standish's head lolled to the side, his eyes shut and his mouth slack and open. 

With disgust, Bakkus dropped Ezra to the ground and limped to the desk. He rifled through the drawers until he came up with a pair of handcuffs, but still no keys.

He manhandled Ezra onto his stomach and then wrenched his arms behind him and cuffed them tightly in place. With a grunt, he stood and hooked his arms into Ezra's to haul him upright again. The painful crotch made the movements difficult, but he'd manage.

"You really screwed me over," Bakkus said, holding the limp man up. "I gave everything I had for this!" He jerked Ezra toward the locked cell, as if the unconscious man were capable of registering what was being shown to him. "You ruined me!"

Bakkus pressed Ezra's face into the bars and growled, "You took it from me. I ain't leavin' without it, and I ain't leavin' without you. You'll pay for the degradation I suffered. You'll pay for what you did to me. Someone's gotta pay."

 

PART 10:

"What about the one that smells all flowery?" JD asked, leaning over the bar as the bartender finished pouring the steeped tea through a strainer.

"Run out of that one," Joe replied. "He likes the Jasmine best, but this here is Oolong. Not bad."

"Oolong…" JD repeated. "Ooooolong. What's it mean?"

Joe shrugged as he tried to fish out the last of the leaves. "It's Chinese for 'pain in the ass stuff to make'. Should be a better way to do this. This strainer thing never gets out all the floaty stuff. I was thinkin' it would work better if these tea-leaves were in some sort of a bag or something and not all loose."

"Inez does a better job of it," JD said and grinned at the bartender. 

"Good for her," he muttered and set the china teacup on the counter. "Don’t break it," Joe admonished. "Mrs. Potter brung it over for Mr. Standish to borrow and it ain't been paid for." 

"Don't worry," JD replied, picking up the dainty cup and saucer that was decorated with a bough of flowering cherries. "Nothin's gonna happen to it." He strode out the door and down the boardwalk to the jail. He walked slowly, careful of the precious cup, and stopped when the tea sloshed out and into the flowered saucer. 

Oh no, he thought, Ezra ain't gonna like that.

He took a quick look around to make sure that no one was looking, picked up the teacup and sucked the offending drops off the saucer. This oooolong ain't half bad, he thought as he replaced the cup and continued toward the jail. It's be better with some sugar. Don't know how Ezra can drink this stuff without it.

Just outside the door, he came to a stop. Something bothered him. Something was wrong. Funny, he couldn't quite get a handle on it, but it was almost as if the wind had changed or a front had come through -- something had happened. He surveyed the street for a moment, watching the movement of the people, the horses, the wagons. Nothing seemed out of order -- still, something was wrong. But what was it? 

He turned back to the jail and stared at the door for a long minute. Carefully, he balanced the cup in one hand as he pulled open the door.

Son-of-a-bitch-son-of-a-bitch-son-of-a-bitch-son-of-a-bitch, JD's mind rattled as the teacup smashed to the ground and his Colts leapt to his hands. Oh God, no! A big man had Ezra up against the bars, holding him face first against the cell, one hand pulling up on Ezra's cuffed hands. Standish seemed to be unconscious. Blood was dripping down one side of his bruised and slack face.

 

PART 11:

"Let him go!" JD demanded, his voice firm and furious. "You let go of him!"

Bakkus hadspun toward him in surprise, eyeing the Colts, seeing the enraged eyes of the kid who had almost ran him down earlier. Bakkus had been so involved that he hadn't even heard the door open.

"I said," Dunne repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "Let go of him!" JD set his jaw and aimed for the man's heart.

Bakkus pulled Standish tightly to himself, using the gambler as a shield, and then carefully plucked his pistol from its holster and brought it alongside Ezra's neck. He watched the stern expression of the kid fall.

"Now, listen here, boy," Bakkus said. "You aren't the one in charge here, are you?" He smiled. "You make a false move and I'll blow his worthless head off. My finger's on the trigger, so if you shoot me, he dies too. You understand?"

Dunne stood in the doorway, his face displaying all his confusion and grief. 

"Come on here, away from that door, nice and easy. Set those guns on that desk."

"No," Dunne whispered. And winced as Bakkus moved the gun to Ezra's temple, pressing it firmly in place. Ezra made no response. Please, Ezra, move, JD cried inwardly. He watched the blood drip down the gambler's face to stain his white shirt. 

The gun didn't waver. Ezra didn't move.

"All right!" JD stepped clear of the door, letting it shut, hoping for all the world that someone had seen what was going on. Slowly, he approached the desk, watching as Bakkus dragged Ezra with him, further into the room to get some distance from JD.

JD searched Ezra's face for any sign of life, as he set down the guns. Only the hitching breath told him that his friend wasn't dead.

"He's having trouble breathing," JD said, trying to keep his voice even. "Please, put him down. Please," he repeated, hoping his submissive tone might placate the man.

"Unlock that door!" Bakkus jerked his head toward the cell.

JD fished the ring of keys from his pocket, and fumbled for the right one. He had the door unlocked in a moment and swung it open. "There!" he declared. "Take whatever the hell you want!" 

"That's the plan, kid," Bakkus said smoothly. JD bridled to hear that familiar moniker used by this man. "Now, get in there and start packing." 

"What?" JD looked incredulously at him.

"There's a pair of saddlebags over there. Get in there and load them up with jewelry, money, whatever you can find that's portable. Fill those bags and hand 'em over here." 

"I'll do it, but let me see to my friend," JD tried. "Please, he can't breath so good. Let him lay down." 

"You gonna do what I tell you, kid?"

"Only if you set him down. Ain't gonna do nothin' for ya if you don't." JD placed his feet firmly, ready to take on this stranger. 

"You ain't movin?" Bakkus sneered.

"Not till you let me see to him," JD replied defiantly.

Bakkus sneered, pulled back the gun and the smacked the butt of it against Ezra's head. He made a pained moan at the abuse.

"Okay! OKAY!" JD call in panic. "That's enough!" Dunne threw himself into the overfilled cell and grabbing anything he could lay his hands. His hands sought out things that might be of worth, but he didn't care. All he wanted to do was fill the damn bag. He glanced over his shoulder at Bakkus who was adjusting Ezra, trying to keep him upright, jerking at him as he tried to keep him up. 

He didn't look good at all. As sick as he'd been recently, he didn't look as if he could stand much.

"Let him alone!" JD bellowed, "I'm goin' as fast as I can!"

"Just keep it movin', sonny-boy."

Dunne's hands closed on packets and parcels, anything that he could shove into the bags. Frantic to hurry, JD had them filled in a few moments. "Here!" he said, holding the saddlebags before him.

"More." Bakkus nodded to the cell. "There's a jewelry box over there. Empty it into there."

JD grabbed the box and broke the lid in his rush to open it. He dumped it in with the rest. Sparkling jewelry tumbled in amongst the other loot. He turned back to Bakkus. 

"There's a gold clock under those boxes there. I want it."

JD scrambled over to the pile of boxes to get down the mentioned clock. He had to wrench it free from its place shoved between two stacks, and stuffed it into the bag. It didn't really fit, but he crammed it in with the other items anyway. 

"Those spurs look like they might be silver. And that bridle looks like it's worth takin'." 

"Ain't gonna fit," JD muttered as he snagged the tack and tried to force it into the other bag. The flaps wouldn't come closed completely, bits of gold and the ends of legal tender shown clearly when JD tried to set the buckle. He held the overfilled bags out to the man who still held onto Ezra. "Please, that's all that will fit. Take 'em and go." 

"Not nearly enough." Bakkus laughed. "There's a horse outside. Get its bags and bring 'em on in here. We'll load them up, too."

Not fair, JD thought. He ain't playin' fair.

Bakkus continued, "That's your horse, isn't it, kid? You won't mind if I borrow it, will you?" The gun, that had been relaxed, was gripped and pressed tightly to Ezra's head once more. "Twitch funny and he'll suffer for it. Get those bags, bring 'em in here and empty them out. There'll be plenty of room for more."

JD nodded, and set the bulging bags on the desk. Ain't the least bit fair. He should let me see to Ezra first He wondered briefly if he should demand it again, and quickly quashed the idea, knowing where it would lead.

"Who's the other horse belong to?" 

"Chris Larabee," JD replied. 

"Good," Bakkus said with a laugh. "He's another of you lawmen, isn't he? He won't care if I take his horse. I'll just use yours as a pack animal. Pack this snake along with me." He shook Ezra for emphasis.

"No," JD breathed. "You're leavin' him here." 

Bakkus glared at the kid. "Bring those bags in too and be quick about it. Don't do anything suspicious. I can put a powerful hurt on him and he can't do nothing to stop it. Be good and I'll leave him once I get out of town."

JD spun toward the door and strode toward it in determined strides. Bakkus found a new position, dragging Ezra along with him. "Remember what I said. I'll be watching." 

JD turned, not to look at Bakkus, but to get another glimpse at Ezra before he stepped outside. He was so pale and limp. He noticed Ezra's eyes had opened and looked toward him -- narrow green slits.

JD stepped into the sunlight and toward the horses. If he could only signal one of the townspeople, let them know that he needed help. His eyes determinedly scanned the streets, but the boardwalks were strangely empty. He paused, gazing out across the town, hoping to see someone -- anyone.

But no one was in sight. It was as if he had stepped into a ghost town. 

He groaned in disbelief. Where was everyone? What the hell was he going to do now? How in the world could he get Ezra out of this?

He was alone.

 

PART 12:

JD knew that he couldn't wait any longer. No, he would give Bakkus no reason to cause any more harm to Ezra. He let the door shut and, with a quick step, he came alongside Toby and started to undo the saddlebags. The horse snuffled at him as he came alongside. 

"Do what he says," he heard a voice say firmly and quietly. JD froze for a moment, before continuing. He didn't turn his head or try to find the man whose voice he recognized as Chris Larabee's. "Keep him happy. If he wants you to fill every damn bag in this sorry-assed town, just do it." 

"Mmm-hmmm," JD voiced as he released the first set of bags and tossed them over his shoulder.

"Don't give him any reasons for trouble, son," he heard Josiah's voice.

"You're doin' good," that was Nathan. 

As he maneuvered around the little bay, he could see Nathan, Josiah and Chris all crouched around the front of the jail. 

Thank God! Dunne thought. We'll get out of this now, JD convinced himself. Just hang on a bit, Ez, and we'll be out.

"He's movin' back to the desk," Buck whispered hoarsely, mostly hidden by the building as he peered around the corner toward them. 

Buck had seen JD's return to the jail and his odd behavior at the door. He had taken one surreptitious look through the window, recognized the man, and called out the troops. Wilmington's first instinct was to shoot the bastard that had hold of Ezra, but he realized that JD was doing his best to control the situation and there was nothing to be done unless Tyrone let loose of the gambler.

The townsfolks, well drilled in street-warfare, and had silently emptied the boardwalks in a matter of minutes and the boys had set up surveillance around the jail, just waiting for their first opportunity to get Tyrone without causing any further injury to either Ezra or JD.

JD made his way toward Job and started to loosen the big black's saddlebags . He wheeled about and headed toward the jail again, keeping his eyes on the ground to be sure to not give away anything about his companions. He now knew that the five of them were nearby, and their presence made him feel stronger, safer. He was certain now that they'd be able to get Ezra out of this.

He felt a surge of pride as he opened the door again. So often, he had felt babied by the others, treated differently because of his youth. He had almost feared that Chris or Buck might have stepped in his path and restricted him from returning to the obvious threat inside the jail. Instead, they let him continue as he had. They trusted him enough to get through this situation. They trusted him to be able to protect himself, to protect Ezra. Not such a kid anymore, he thought.

He held the saddlebags held in front of him and walked back into danger.

 

PART 13:

"Empty 'em nice and easy over by that wall. If I see any kinda weapon come out of them, I want it kicked under that cabinet, you hear?"

JD nodded and immediately dumped the contents of his and Chris' bags beside the door. There wasn't much packed, just a few odds and ends that always came in handy. Chris' bowie knife came clear and JD quickly kicked it under the file cabinet as he had been ordered. It would be a pain to retrieve, but Chris would manage.

He glanced toward Ezra as he emptied the bags. The intruder seemed to be having trouble holding onto him, and Ezra was giving him no assistance, slumping against him constantly -- a 'dead' weight. At one point Ezra hooked a foot around the leg of the desk, causing Bakkus to stumble. JD forced himself not to grin, realizing that Ezra was purposefully weighing on him, trying to wear him down. Still, the gun was always pointing at him in some manner or another, Ezra still gasped in pain. Bakkus wasn't going to give Ezra a minute's peace.

As JD stepped into the filled cell, he glanced carefully to the window and smiled when he saw the eyes of Vin Tanner looking back at him. The maze of other people's belongings provided adequate cover for the sharpshooter. Tanner held his mare's leg ready, aiming it toward Bakkus, waiting for the man to loosen his hold on their friend, to pull the gun away from him.

How's he gonna shoot around all that stuff? JD thought. How's he gonna miss those bars?

"Get that trunk out! It looks promising," Bakkus ordered and JD sighed, realizing that the mentioned item was near the bottom of the pile. All of the carefully orchestrated stacking was going to be worthless now. With a grunt, JD pulled the small trunk free and tugged it into the office. It was heavy and closed with an impressive looking lock -- an obvious receptacle of great wealth. 

"You want me to open it," JD asked, not looking at Bakkus, but at Ezra, who gazed back at him through clouded and half-closed eyes.

"Why bother. It's all packed up so nice already." Bakkus laughed shortly. "My pal here won't mind sharing his horse with it." His gaze turned to Standish, but Ezra's eyes were closed again. Bakkus frowned. "I'm just hopin' he lives long enough to see me safe out of town. If you or your friends come after me, I'll bust him up a bit more." 

JD glared at Bakkus, his hand clenching in ineffectual rage. He noticed that Ezra's eyes had opened again and that the gambler was looking at him. He seemed to focus on Dunne and raised an eyebrow. Dunne had to turn quickly to keep from smiling at Ezra's exasperated expression.

He caught Vin's eye again and Tanner nodded reassuringly at him, before ducking his head back down into cover.

 

PART 14:

JD followed Bakkus' directions, grabbing whatever was pointed out to him. It seemed that their captor always wanted the most inaccessible articles. The piles that had stood so firmly, were starting to sway as JD moved through them, struggling to free the next requested item. 

"Get that jacket!" Bakkus demanded, nodding at a fine burgundy blazer that had been jammed under a pile of crates.

JD sighed and grabbed hold of it. He gave it a tug and the pile swayed dangerously. He let loose of it immediately and the precariously shifting stack settled down. With a startled look, he turned to Bakkus and saw Ezra wince. He wasn't sure if it was out of pain, or sympathy for JD's nearly avoided disaster. Maybe he felt badly about the poor treatment of the fine fabric. 

"Get it!" Bakkus demanded.

"It's stuck," JD replied.

"I want that jacket. Maybe I'll end up looking as pretty as this specimen." He shook Ezra, but the gambler gave no sign of regaining consciousness.   
"Let him alone," JD demanded.

"What a coward. He needs a boy to protect him," Tyrone taunted. "You know, poison is the murder-weapon of cowards. It's underhanded, sneaky, clean. A coward can poison a man without getting his hands dirty. It's the weapon of snakes, slithering disgusting snakes. Everyone despises snakes. A sane man would kill a serpent soon as he recognizes what he's got -- shoot it, or take a hoe to it and hack it up."

JD didn't move from where he crouched over the trapped jacket, but his voice was angry and forceful. "He walked into a fortress with twelve murderers inside. They would've shot anyone who came close. He didn't care. Just walked in -- unarmed. He smiled as if it were nothing as he drank that stuff that could kill him. Didn't flinch, didn't look for help. I owe my life to him." Dunne nodded to Ezra, whose head was tipped to one side against Bakkus' arm, eyes glinting at him. 

Dunne glared at the man who wouldn't let go of Ezra. "You attack a man who's sick, who doesn't have the strength to fight you. What did you do? Hit him hard enough to stun him and then go after him?" JD asked, his voice low with anger. "That's the only way I can see it happening 'cause Ezra could have taken you down even if he were sicker than a dog."

Bakkus kept his gun trained on Ezra, his eyes boring hateful holes into Dunne.

JD didn't back down. "You, well, you seem to like to hurt people when they got no way of fightin' back. Is it the only way you can win?"

Bakkus shifted, changing his grip on Ezra. He glowered at the young man, but JD just continued his tirade, "And there you are, usin' him as a shield." He could hear Buck hissing a warning to him from outside the window, but Dunne was on a roll. "I think you're the only coward here."

Tyrone pulled the gun away from Ezra and aimed it at JD. The second the gun moved clear of Standish, a shot rang out from behind JD, followed instantly by a startling PING as Vin's bullet ricocheted off of something in the cell.

Vin swore loudly and aimed again, trying to see around all of the loot and the metal bars that stood between him and his target. Bakkus dropped Ezra like a hot potato, losing his gun in the process. He dove toward JD and the cover of the boxes. 

"I don't have the shot!" Vin shouted as Bakkus disappeared behind the wall of Vineville's wealth.

Tyrone reached for JD, his murderous hands stretched to grasp hold of Dunne's neck. Suddenly, he jerked and tripped over the legs that wound around his.

Tangled up in Ezra, Bakkus lost his balance, missed his target, and plunged against a stack of ill-centered crates. It all came crashing down.

Boxes, crates, loose clothing, crystal vases, a box filled with china, jewelry, coins, paper money, and little golden gewgaws clattered, shattered, fluttered and tumbled into a mess that filled the cell and continued out into the office. 

And then, for several seconds, all was still.

 

Part 15:

"JD!" Buck shouted. "Ezra!" He and Vin peered through the window. JD fought to get out from under a heavy curtain. It churned and swore like a mad ghost. Nothing else moved. 

They sprinted around the building and in through the front door, hot on the heels of the Chris, Josiah and Nathan.

Nathan was the first to reach Ezra, pulling back the coat tree, frilly dresses and the silk hats that had fallen on him. Ezra moved feebly as the clothing was removed. "It's alright, Ezra, we got you," the healer murmured, pressing against Ezra's neck to catch his pulse.

Ezra fought to keep his eyes open, struggling with the handcuffs. He coughed and moaned as he attempted to roll onto his knees and get up, but he was still snagged on Bakkus' boot and his motions were useless.

"Calm down, son," Josiah spoke soothingly, placing a restraining hand on Ezra's side. "It'll be just fine. Lay still now." And Ezra stopped his attempts to move.

The other men brought their guns on man they knew as Tyrone Brown. Only his lower half was visible, still partially outside the cell. His head was covered with the fallen boxes.

"JD," Ezra whispered, closing his eyes.

"I'm fine!" JD declared, fighting to free himself from the curtains that had descended on him. He tried to get loose of it, but half a dozen boxes had entrapped the edges of the drapery, holding him tight. "Just get me the hell out of here!"

Chris kicked at the sole of Tyrone's boot, to free Ezra from it. Ezra jerked his foot away, but there was no response from the man who lay halfway in the cell. 

"Get up," Buck growled, flinging away the boxes that had fallen over Tyrone. He stopped short and stared.

"Ah, Nate," Vin called quietly. "You wanna look at this?"

Nathan was still hunched over Ezra, rubbing his shoulder and trying to figure out how badly he'd been hurt. "Do I need to?" Nathan asked, glaring at the feet of Tyrone Bakkus. "Rather stay with Ezra."

Chris replied fiercely, "Don't you move from where you are. Ain't no reason to. Anyone could tell that this man is dead."

Buck and Vin stepped over the body, not giving him a second glance, and started moving the objects that would free Dunne. Buck offered a hand when JD was able to stand. Once he was on his feet, JD dove toward the body near him, his eyes filled with murderous intent, but he stopped when he got a good look at Bakkus. He straightened, steadying himself against a crate as he stared at the gory mess of what remained of the man's head.

There wasn't much left. A marble bookend had smashed open Tyrone Bakkus' skull like a melon.

"Never thought I'd see the like of it," Vin said, laying a hand on JD's shoulder. "Best not look on it too long." And he grabbed a bit of cloth to toss over the mess.

JD swallowed and nodded tightly as he stepped over the man who had held them captive. All in all, he didn't give a damn about him. He had someone else to be worried about.

"Ezra -- is he okay?" JD asked, squatting down beside the healer. 

"You got a spare key?" Jackson asked, gesturing to Ezra’s bound hands.

JD nodded, and quickly pulled the ring from his pockets, undoing the handcuffs.

“Thank you,” Standish voiced as the metal restraints were removed. Nathan and Josiah carefully moved Ezra arms forward and gently allowed him to lie on his back. Josiah massaged his arms gently, trying to get the circulation back, careful of the bruised wrists.

"Get my stuff for me, would you, Vin?" Nathan asked, not looking up but knowing that the tracker instantly departed. 

Ezra muttered something that the others couldn’t understand and he fought to open his eyes. 

"Ezra, can you hear me?" Nathan asked. 

"Yes," was the soft reply.

“I’m gonna help you, so just hang on, okay?” Nathan saw Ezra’s minimal nod, and then carefully opened his waistcoat and shirt, revealing a Ezra’s sides and back all mottled in black and blue. 

Larabee watched in a silent rage, glancing to the body with the crushed head. He wished that the man was still alive -- just so he could kill Bakkus himself. Josiah still crouched beside the gambler. Buck stood beside Chris, flanking him, and providing what protection he could to their wounded teammate.

Nathan asked quietly, "What happened to your back?"

"Bars…"

“What about the bars?”

“Met them…”

"Must'a been some meeting," Buck said, trying to interject some light into the situation, but feeling his words fall flat.

Nathan went on, "You got a bad knock on the head," he said, noting the condition of Ezra's face, the blood.

"Ah know."

Nathan sighed, feeling along Ezra's skull. "Aw, hell," he pulled back his hand when he felt the lump and came into contact with the blood at the back of the head. "That son of a bitch!"

"Sorry," Ezra muttered.

"Shut up, Ezra," Chris interjected. "He wasn't talking to you."

Vin burst back into the jail with Nathan's bag. "He's gonna be okay, ain't he?" the tracker asked, setting down the items.

"He'll be fine," Nathan declared, but the worry was evident in his voice. If Ezra were stronger, this might be easier, but he'd been so damn sick. "Let me know if you start feeling like you're gonna get sick. We got the waste pail here, so if you give us a warning…"

"No," Ezra murmured.

"No?"

"Not gonna be sick. Tired of bein' sick." Ezra's voice was becoming slurred.

"Now, Ezra, you got yourself a concussion," Nathan explained. "Throwin' up just comes with that."

"Not gonna be sick again." Ezra opened his eyes finally and stared glassily back at the healer. His uneven pupils further emphasizing his current state. "Won’t be sick."

Nathan nodded compliantly. "Okay, then," he said. "Let's sit you up. I'll have Buck grab that waste pail just in case."

“Tired,” Ezra murmured as they moved around, getting ready.

“I need you to stay awake.” Nathan said sternly. “I don’t like the look of that bump on your head. It's better if you stay awake for a while. Can you do that?”

“Try,” Ezra said softly, but it was obvious that he was slipping away, his eyes were half closed again, and JD could feel his grip relaxing.

“Just hang onto me, okay, Ezra?” JD pleaded. “You can grip as tight as you like, I won’t hollar.” 

Ezra blinked lethargically and increased his hold on JD’s hand as Josiah and Buck sat him up. JD watched Ezra's pale face take on an almost grayish tone. Standish gasped once and then the hand went lax in JD’s grip.

 

Part 16:

“Nate?” Vin said, leaning forward. “Nate? His eyes are open.” Tanner rested one hand on the bed and brought his face close to the inhabitant’s. “Hey there, Ez,” he said quietly. “Sure is good to see wakin'.”

Tanner had been here for hours already, waiting as Ezra continued to sleep. Hell, it had been a full day since Ezra had last opened his eyes. Finally! Vin thought.

The eyes blinked dully and looked beyond him.

“Come on, Ez,” Vin coaxed. “You can do more than that. Let’s hear some of those big words of yours.”

And still the eyes just blinked and stared sightlessly.

Vin felt his heart sink.

Nathan had moved behind Vin, to watch the interplay. Tanner turned a gaze on him and said, “He’s awake but he ain’t sayin’ nothin.” Tanner waved one hand before Ezra’s eyes and was disappointed by the sluggish response from the otherwise quick-reflexed conman. “Hey, Ez, you in there?”

“Ezra?” Nathan called sharply. He snapped his fingers in front of Ezra’s eyes and frowned. “He’s not really awake, Vin.” No, he was hardly conscious.

Vin gently shook Ezra’s shoulder, but there was no reaction. "Damn," he sighed.

“Let’s see if we can’t get him to sit up to drink somethin’,” Nathan declared. “We gotta get some of this soup into him. After these past couple of weeks, he needs this like a hole in the head.” He sighed deeply. “Probably took all the strength he had just to wake up this much.” 

Between the two of them, they were able to sit Standish upright. Nathan was about to shove pillows behind Standish’s back to keep him sitting upright against the headboard, but Vin climbed into that space and supported Ezra against his chest, gently wrapping his arms around him.

Nathan nodded. That would work.

Jackson poured out some water and brought the glass to his patient, disappointed to see that Ezra's eyes didn't focus on the glass. “Hold his head for me, will ya, Vin?” Nathan asked, tipping back the cup. “Watch out for that wound. Remember his back is all bruised.”

Vin didn’t need to be told. He carefully gripped Ezra’s head, laying it against his own shoulder, well aware of the bruises and bandages.

Jackson was encouraged when Ezra swallowed the water that was poured into his mouth. “Jus’ gotta be careful he don’t choke,” he said unnecessarily. Yes, they'd both be careful.

"Must be thirsty," Vin commented as Ezra continued the swallow the water given to him. "Mighty thirsty."

"Probably what woke him up," Nathan responded. After giving Ezra the water, he then went to the wood stove, to get the broth that was had been waiting. He was only able to give Ezra about half a mug of the beef broth before Ezra would accept no more. Standish stopped swallowing and the soup simply spilled down his chin.

"Aw, Ez," Vin murmured. "You can do better than that."

"Better stop," Nathan solemnly stated as he daubed up the water and soup that had dribbled down Ezra’s face, careful to keep him tidy.

Ezra continued to stare vacantly before him, blinking from time to time, completely unaware of Nathan and Vin. Whiskers were beginning to grow on his pale face, only adding to how strange he looked.

“We can set him down now, Vin,” Nathan said to the tracker, who still was performing the task of a backrest.

Tanner said nothing immediately and made no move to relinquish his seat. He gazed at Ezra's passive face -- staring emotionlessly at some unfocused point. Again, the tracker moved a hand before the gambler's face. “Come on, Ez,” Tanner said softly. “Tell me to knock it off. Let me know how much this annoys you. Can't be very gentlemanly of me. It's time you let me know.”

Nathan watched silently.

Finally, getting no response Tanner voiced, “God, Nate. Good God Almighty, he can’t stay this way, can he? He ain’t gonna stay this way?”

“I don’t know, Vin.” Nathan replied. “He’s in pretty bad shape.” He stood before Standish, but Ezra's eyes didn't seem to find him.

“It ain’t right. It’d kill him to know he was like this.”

“I don’t know if he’ll remember this when he wakes up all the way -- if he wakes up.”

"He'll wake up…" Vin said determinedly. "He's gotta."

"I don't know, Vin."

Vin eyed the mug that Nathan set beside the stove. “That weren’t enough was it?”

“Not nearly,” Nathan sighed. “Honestly, Vin, if this keeps up, he just ain’t gonna make it. We just can't get him to eat enough to keep him alive. Not after these past couple weeks. He's just got nothin' left.” He met the tracker’s eyes, and almost wished he had lied.

Vin Tanner was a hardened bounty hunter. He had seen the worst that humanity had to offer, had ridden with the dregs of society as he hauled them in to justice. He could hit a target at astounding distances. Had killed-- often. He had lived with savages. Tanner was a man with a price on his head, had been on his own most of his life and had learned the lessons that this difficult existence taught.

But, as Nathan watched the tracker, he remembered how young Vin was, just a few years older than JD, just a few years younger than Ezra. You could see that youth in Vin’s eyes in moments like this. Tanner was just a kid, too, in fear of losing a brother.

And Ezra -- that troublesome, enigmatic, morally-challenged con artist -- looked like a lost child.

Hell, Nathan thought. I'm just a little older than Ezra. How the hell did I get so old? I'm so damn old.

Nathan ran a tired hand across his brow. My God, he thought, if I hadn't poisoned him in the first place, if I hadn't nearly killed him, he would have a chance to fight this. 

"Nate?" Vin called softly, seeing the stricken look on Jackson's face. 

Nathan shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

"Ain't your fault, Nate. You done the best you could for him," Vin said. "He's got a stubborn streak a mile wide and he'll make it through this." The tracker paused, watching Jackson's face. "Won't he?" he added.

The healer only gazed back at Tanner, well aware that the perceptive man could read him like a book. Both men said nothing for a long minute. Finally, Nathan sighed. “Let’s get him more comfortable, Vin. He’d be better off layin’ back on those pillows. We'll try to get him to take some more soup later.”

Vin nodded absently and waited for Nathan’s help.

Ezra continued to stare before him, blinking occasionally but seeing nothing.

 

PART 17:

“How are you doin’, Brother?” Josiah asked as he entered the clinic.

“Right fine,” Buck replied with his usual grin. “There’s one thing that’d make it better and that would be for this sorry cuss to actually talk to us.” He nodded to the form in the bed. Ezra continued to stare listlessly at the ceiling.

Buck frowned. “Make me feel a damn sight better, that’s for sure. I'm gettin' tired of just seeing him looking out like that.”

Three days had passed since Bakkus had attacked him, and Ezra still did not fully awaken. He seemed lost in some world between waking and sleep. He slumbered mostly, but from time to time he'd open his eyes and become responsive enough to take in some nourishment. Yet, he remained oblivious to all that was around him and only responded vaguely. Nathan kept a rich beef broth available and milk as well. Jackson was determined to do anything to give Ezra the energy he needed to keep going.

“He come ‘round at all?” Josiah asked, taking his seat. "Has he moved?" 

“Not a stir from him,” Buck replied glumly. Wilmington gently lay a hand on Ezra’s arm and sighed, troubled again by the lack of response. Nathan had changed the bandages around his head earlier that day. The gash across his forehead was healing nicely. “Opened his eyes again a little while ago. Nate and I got him to take a bit of soup."

Josiah rested his arms across his lap, letting his hands hang loosely at his wrists. 

Buck turned to Josiah and declared, "If Bakkus weren't already dead, I swear, I'd kill 'im. Hunt down the bastard and put a dozen holes in him."

Green eyes blinked and continued to stare.

"It's in the hands of the Lord now," Josiah said with a sigh. "And I got a feeling that Ezra is just resting up. He does like to sleep you know. When he's ready, he'll be with us again."

"Can't recall him sleeping so long b'fore. Guess I won't be able to fault him for sleepin' in an extra hour from now on."

"He'll be waking soon," Josiah said confidently.

“Damn well better, or I'll have to kick his sorry ass out of that bed. Won't put up with this lollygagging for much longer." Buck waiting, hoping that maybe the words were heard, but Ezra continued to breathe slowly and deeply, looking off into nothingness.

"I don’t know which is worse," Buck murmured. "When we were seeing him so sick but being able to talk and act normal enough, or to see him like this where he don’t seem to be feeling too much but…he don’t seem to know anythin’ either.”

"It's a poor choice no matter how you look at it," Josiah responded.

"Amen to that." Buck kept his hand on Ezra's arm, squeezing it gently. "Come on, Ez," he said softly. "You gotta come out of this. We ain't had that lunch date yet and you’re holdin' up my schedule. All the girls are clamorin' for their turn. You've put a powerful crimp in my style." He continued his pressure until he thought he felt a muscle flex beneath him.

He watched as Ezra's face twitched. The eyes closed and then lids fluttered.

"Come on, Ez. Talk to your buddy Buck."

Ezra scrunched up his face and drew in a breath. "Buck?" Ezra quietly called.

"Hey, Ezra," Buck responded. "Come on, open them eyes back up."

"Buck?" Ezra called again, softly and opened his eyes. He looked confused as he gazed toward Wilmington.

"Hey, pard!" Buck called happily, grinning widely. "That's right; it's me."

The confusion seemed to deepen. "Buck?"

"Yeah, ya sorry son of a gun. You got that figured out. What else you have to say?"

But Ezra didn't seem to understand what was going on. He glanced around in some alarm. "Why're you in Topeka?"

"Topeka?" Buck returned, concern in his voice. "We ain't…" 

“Ezra?” Josiah called softly, smiling broadly. “It’s good to hear you talking.”

Ezra moved his addled gaze to take in Josiah and blinked at him as if trying to see him clearly. He looked discontent, as if he didn’t recognize Josiah at all, and moved his gaze about the room. "Mother?" he called softly.

Josiah sighed. "Maude isn't here, Ezra."

"Oh." He sounded confused.

"Now, Ezra," Buck cut in, "I'm gonna get Nate in a bit, but first we're gonna try to get you to eat a little first. You’re getting as skinny as an alley cat now and we don't want to see you disappear on us."

Ezra just blinked back at them. "Didn't really think…" he said, trailing off as the blinking became slower and he closed his eyes again.

"Ezra?" Buck shook the arm that he still grasped. "Come on, hoss, don't do this. Don't do this to me." He tried to awaken Standish for several minutes, but he seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep again.

Josiah sighed. He returned to his seat and rested his huge hands in his lap, watching as Buck spoke to the unresponsive gambler. Finally, the preacher said, "It was a good sign. He knew who you were."

Buck grimaced. "Didn't know where the hell he was though and didn't seem to know you. Damn it!" He stood quickly and crossed to the window. "God, I hate this."

Josiah said nothing, silently watching Ezra's face. Come back, son, he thought. You've got to come back.

 

PART 18:

JD sat quietly in the clinic. He was tired of it. A little over a week ago, he had spent a lot of time here, worrying and fretting as Ezra vomited his guts out and quietly cursed in a constant pain.

Now, he had spent part of four days here … again with Ezra. He was tired of it. He was tired of Ezra being hurt and sick, and tired of not being able to do anything about it. 

At least Ezra slept; and at least he wasn't staring anymore. That vacant glance had sent shivers up the young sheriff's spine. It had seemed so totally out of place on the cardsharp's visage.

As Ezra had so firmly declared, he didn't get sick again. Too damn stubborn, Chris had commented. JD understood why. For as tired as JD was of this, he knew that Ezra must be all the more wearied with it, just sick of being sick.

The liquid diet must have been doing some good. At least it didn't come right back up again… but the meager food wouldn't be enough to keep Ezra going. He was so damn thin now.

"I miss havin' you around, Ezra," JD muttered, kicking at the side of the bed absently. "I don't like it this way. I'd rather you would wake up and be okay."

"I just want this to be over…" JD muttered, continuing to kick at the board. "I just keep goin' over it in my head and I KNOW that none of this would have happened if I weren't in the wrong place at the wrong time back when we came up against Varness. If I just stayed back when Chris told me to, you'd be fine." He banged harder with his foot.

"And then… and then I go and leave you alone. Hell, Ezra, I should 'ave known better. I shouldn't have left in you in the jail like that with all that loot that was just asking to be taken -- left you to be attacked. If I'd only stayed, you wouldn't have gotten hurt. It's all my fault. I just wish I could switch places with you is all." He kicked agitatedly.

"Mr. Dunne," a voice quietly stated. "If I agree with you, would you stop that infernal racket?"

JD glanced at his foot, oblivious that he had been making so much noise and then back to Ezra. "Hey, Ez!" he cried. "Ez! You're okay!"

"Okay?" Ezra grimaced. "I'm alive if that suffices."

JD jumped to his feet. "Hey!" he cried, seeing Ezra's eyes focus on him. "You're really awake, ain't cha? Not foolin' us again, huh?" 

Ezra winced. "Yes, and if you would lower your voice, my headache would be much more endurable." 

"Sorry, Ez," JD replied, not changing his volume; he was too happy. "You sure had us scared. Nate said you were sleepin' too long and was about ready to pitch a fit."

"Hmm," Ezra responded. "Nathan? A fit?"

"Hell, and Chris looked about ready to beat a hole in the wall any time someone mentioned Varness or Bakkus. Didja know that man at the jail was named Bakkus?"

"No, I'm afraid he didn't introduce himself." Ezra closed his eyes.

"Well, he's named Tyrone Bakkus and was the guy who financed Varness. He was goin' around town saying his name was Brown, but I found out his real name, and all about Varness because of some letters he was carrying."

"What became of him, this Bakkus?" Ezra asked, furrowing his brow. "The last thing I recall is that he was about to wring your neck due to foolish comments made."

"You don't remember? You tripped him and all that stuff came down on him and WHAM…he got crowned by a hunk of marble. Josiah said that he got his just deserts, seein' as how he wanted that stuff so bad and was willing to kill for it." 

"At least one man received what he deserved." Ezra raised a hand to his forehead, pulling his hand away in surprise when he touched the bandage. "It was foolish of you to return, Mr. Dunne."

"Return where?" JD asked, confused.

"To the jail," Ezra said as he explored the wrapping. "You were free of Mr. Bakkus. You should have continued on your way."

JD shook his head. "I wasn't gonna leave you, Ez. You know that."

Ezra continued to scrutinize the damage with his hand as he spoke. "In any case, I suppose we're even now. No debt remains."

"Debt?"

With a smile, Ezra continued, "If you recall, I told you and Mr. Larabee that I was 'owed one' for freeing you from Mr. Varness and his men. We're even now."

"No." JD shook his head fiercely. "No, we ain't."

Ezra looked crestfallen, his hand stopping and finally retreating to his side as he asked, "We're not? But I thought I had...wasn't it enough?"

"There ain't no 'even' to worry about. Any of us wouldve gone back in. Didn't matter who owed who. Dammit, Ezra. You don't understand. You just about got killed because of me when you went after Varness. And, you did it on purpose! You drank that poisonous stuff, and could have died from it."

"It was a means to an ends."

"And I'm so tired of hearing that. What the hell does that mean anyway? I don't want anyone dyin' cause of me!"

"It was never my intention."

"Nate says that you told him that you had it figured that you wouldn't need to drink the cognac and he almost didn't bring an antidote. Why did you do that? You would've died if he didn't think to bring it. You would've just died! Why?"

"Yeah, Ezra." A voice near the door asked, "Why?"

"Mr. Larabee." Ezra smiled, trying to sit up. "How pleasant of you to come calling," he gasped.

"Lay down, you idiot," Larabee growled as he quickly crossed the room. "When'd he wake up?" he threw the question to JD.

"Just a few minutes ago," JD replied. "You been here long?"

"Long enough." Larabee regarded Ezra for a moment, as the southerner settled back -- somewhat painfully -- into the pillows. "How're you doing?"

Ezra smiled. "As well as could be expected after being run over by an ox."

Larabee waited until Ezra had become comfortable again. He smiled a little as he waited, and then continued, "You gonna answer JD's question? Why didn't you tell Nathan you were going to drink that cognac?"

Ezra sighed. "Once I courted a lovely young lady named Adele." He rubbed his chin and seemed startled to find stubble beneath his fingers.

"Adele?" Larabee asked. "Sounds French"

Ezra looked disgusted as he further explored his overgrown face.

"Ezra," Chris called, trying to get his attention. "What about Adele?"

"I heard you, Mr. Larabee. We are in the same room. It would be difficult to miss you."

"Ezra," Larabee grumbled.

"She was from a small town in the south of France. She hardly spoke any English, and when she did, she had the most engaging accent." Ezra said, smiling, his eyes growing soft with the memory. "Beautiful, petite and strong enough to crack a man like a walnut with her thighs." He laughed lightly. "She was a trapeze artist."

"Trapeze?" JD asked. "Really?"

"An acrobat of the air," Ezra sighed, nestling further into the pillows. "She was a bird, fairy light and nimble as the wind."

"Ho ho!" JD chuckled. "Does Buck know about this?"

Ezra raised a tired eyebrow. "Mr. Wilmington would be hopeless jealous if he were to know, and would demand sordid details that I am not at liberty to relate. She was… should I say…incredibly flexible. She could put herself into the most amazing positions."

"Ezra," Chris said with an amused air, "You're too sick a man to be thinkin' on such things and you haven't answered the question yet."

Ezra continued in the same soft and distracted voice, "She performed at a circus back east and she flew without a net. Her aerial acrobatics were extraordinary. Her feats brought gasps of astonishment from crowded houses, and grown men fainted as she flew from one bar to the next."

Chris crossed his arms over his chest. "What are you gettin' at, Ezra."

"There was a gentleman named Foss who owned the establishment and he let the performers ply their craft as they saw fit. But old Foss died, and his son took his place." Ezra closed his eyes. 

"Is there any point to this, Ezra?" Chris asked, watching the gambler in concern. The act of talking seemed to be wearing him out. He was speaking slower and his accent became more pronounced.

"Young Foss wanted to protect his performers and refused to allow the lovely Adele to perform without a net. She complained bitterly, saying it would ruin her act, but Young Foss wouldn't relent and so Miss Adele conceded and performed from then on, with a safety net beneath her." 

"Sounds like a good idea, Ez," JD said. 

"So it would seem," Ezra murmured. "But she lost her edge. The net was always there to protect her and she learned that it was safe to miss the bar. Miss Adele, who had never faltered, learned to fall."

"So," Chris put in. "What your sayin' is, that you knew you had a net, so you allowed yourself to fall?"

Ezra smiled. "You are very perceptive, Mr. Larabee. If Mr. Jackson hadn't been nearby with the cure, I never would've put the glass to my lips. I would've found a way around it, as was my intention at the beginnin'. But I had a weak moment as we prepared ourselves for the adventure, and conceded the fact to Mr. Jackson that an antidote might be a good idea. When I confronted Mr. Varness, I knew that the net was available, so I made use of it. If it weren't there, I wouldn't have needed it."

"Still, a fool thing to do." 

"Agreed," Ezra said and opened his eyes again. "It was the knowledge of the net that was my downfall."

"Ain't the type of thing I want happening around here." Larabee turned a glare on Standish. "I ain't going to have anyone die because of me."

With a smile, Ezra continued. "After all I've been through, Mr. Larabee, you can be quite assured that I'll never do such a thing again. It's no good at all for my health."

JD chewed his lip and then asked after a moment, "So what happened to Adele?"

"She missed the bar one night. She fell and the net failed her." Ezra smiled sadly. "Now she flies on another plane of existence."

Chris threw JD an angry glance and then looked back to Ezra. He was staring off into space, with one arm wrapped around his middle. "Are you doin' okay? Need anything?"

Ezra sighed.

"Ezra," Chris said distinctly, hoping that Standish wasn't slipping away on them again. "You need anything?"

Standish was silent for a moment, lost in an old memory. Finally, he muttered, "I'm a bit hungry."

"Hungry?" Chris intoned, surprise in his voice.

"Really, Ez? You're hungry?" JD asked enthusiastically. "Ain't heard that in a while. We got some soup right here and some milk, too.

Ezra responded with a wistful expression. "Yes, perhaps some of that, but I had a yearning for something else."

JD wasn't deterred. "What d'you want then? Huh?"

Standish blinked, looking from JD's excited face to Chris' pleased expression. Were they really that ecstatic about this? JD was half-turned toward the door, ready to leave.

"Come on, Ez," JD said. "We'll find whatever it is you want."

"Some pie would be nice," Ezra stated quietly.

"Pie?" JD asked.

"I like pie," Ezra replied.

"Come on, JD. We'll let him rest a bit and come on back," Chris said, noting that Ezra was about ready to fall asleep on them. He headed to the door. "Pie."

Ezra watched them go. After the door shut, he closed his eyes and fell immediately asleep, smiling to himself.

 

PART 19:

Buck watched JD and Chris clamor down the stairs from the clinic. They paused at the bottom, discussing something heatedly. "Now what?" Buck said out loud.

"Hard to say," the preacher responded, narrowing his gaze on the two men. "But it appears to be an argument of some sort." They watched as the two men gestured and commented on something. 

"What's goin' on?" Nathan asked as he joined them.

Buck shrugged. "Somethin's up and I aim to find out what it is." He headed across the street to join the other two. Yes, something had definitely happened, but by the looks of the two men -- it couldn't be too bad. Both Dunne and Larabee were smiling. 

He caught part of the conversation as he drew near. "Definitely fruity!" JD declared.

Chris frowned and responded, "Nuts."

"Chris?" Buck questioned as he reached them. "What's goin' on?" Nathan and Josiah were close behind.

"Pie," Chris replied.

The three men looked perplexed.

"He woke up and said he wanted some pie," JD iterated.

"Damn!" Buck exclaimed, slapping himself on the forehead. "Why didn't we think of that before? You know Ezra can't pass up a good pie. Hell, even a half-decent one probably would'a done the trick."

"Pie?" Nathan asked.

"Brother, I know that Inez makes the best peach cobbler in the territory," Josiah said with a grin.

"It's gotta be pie," JD reminded. "He don't like cobblers."

"Don't care much for that Dutch Apple stuff either. He likes a good crust," Buck added.

"He likes the pecan," Chris commented.

"Now, now, now…" Nathan chided. "You gotta go slow. He ain't eaten anythin' heavier than milk for the past few days and not much substance before that. If I can get him to eat something light tonight, then maybe he can have some ..."

But already the men were dispersing. Nathan sighed as he looked up and saw Vin standing nearby. "You got more sense then the rest of 'em, don’t cha?"

Vin just grinned as he headed to Mrs. Potters.

 

PART 20:

"Wake up!" Buck said, shaking Ezra's shoulder gently.

"Think we let him sleep long enough?" JD asked quietly. "He was lookin' pretty wore out earlier." 

Nathan stood back, watching. He'd been able to get Ezra to east a little bread and milk earlier that day, and had followed it later with a thick but rather bland stew that seemed to please the gambler. Now that it was almost evening, it was time to try something else.

"Come on, Ez," Buck crooned. "We let you sleep a piece, now you got to do somethin' for us. Wakey-wakey."

Ezra opened his eyes in trepidation. Six faces greeted him. He winced at the intrusion. They were all grinning like cats. "Why are ya'll here?" he asked tentatively. 

"You said you were hungry," Chris stated.

"I've eaten since we last spoke," Ezra commented, but was unable to deny the fact that his stomach was aching to be fed again. "Are you all here to provide entertainment while I eat?" Josiah and Nathan gently sat him up, shoving pillows behind his back to keep him in place. Ezra did his best to remain quiet during the painful process, holding his breath and waiting for them to finish.

Once he was settled again, he looked at each of the six men. Didn't they have anywhere better to be at this moment? "Who's minding the jail?" he asked. "Certainly the goods must be…"

"Never you mind that," Buck stated. "We got a couple of the fellers from town looking after things and that ain't none of your bother right now." 

"Yeah," JD continued. "The only thing you gotta think about is what are you gonna eat first."

"Quite a decision, if I say so myself," Josiah added. 

Ezra looked perplexed.

"You said that you wanted pie," JD reminded. 

"Well, we couldn't come to an agreement on which one was best, so we had to bring 'em all," Buck stated and with a grand gesture pointed to the table covered with pastries.

Ezra's eyes opened wide. "Mr. Dunne," he said turning to JD. "I only meant…"

"I understand that you like the pecan they serve at the restaurant," Chris said with a nod. "I convinced them to part with half of one. Might have had the whole thing, but there were some cowboys that got to it before me."

"I got most of a cherry one from the Casey," JD said. "Ah, actually Nettie made it, but Casey said that she picked the cherries and was right eager to hand it over to a good cause. She ate a piece though… before she knew what we needed it for. She thought I was just…" 

"I convinced Inez to make a peach pie," Josiah broke in. "Her specialty is cobbler, but she said that her secret is in the sauce." 

"They're all full of hog-wash, Ez," Buck said, leaning on the bed. "'Cause I got you the best apple pie you can find. The lovely Lady Katy picked the apples herself, washed them lovingly, peeled 'em with her perty hands and…"

"Pumpkin," Vin said, interrupting Buck and pointing to the pie that he'd begged from Mrs. Potter. 

Ezra looked from one man to the other, his eyes wide in disbelief, until his gaze settled on Nathan.

The healer held his hands up and said, "Now, Ezra, you can't eat all this. I can't let you have more than a slice right now. You just ain't up to it. I know you've eaten a bit, but after fastin' for so long, it won't do your stomach any good to eat all this heavy stuff…" 

"He got a sweet-potato one," Buck said with a nod. "Made it his own self." 

Nathan looked embarrassed. "‘Least it's got some nutritional value."

"Gentlemen," Ezra finally managed to say, "I'm astounded."

"You shouldn't be," Chris said as he grabbed a plate from the table, cut a finger-narrow slice from the pecan, knowing that they'd best start slow. He handed it to Ezra.

"Go easy," Nathan muttered as Ezra poised a fork over the pastry.

"But, of course," Ezra smiled as he drove the fork into the slice and cut away the point. He rested the plate in his lap as he brought the first bite to his mouth. He savored it for a long minute, not chewing, letting the tastes dissolve in his mouth. God, it was good! He had forgotten what it was like to taste something that was -- palatable. He looked up to see concerned faces. Finally, he swallowed the morsel.

"Delectable," he said. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Nathan, who was edging the bucket closer to the bed with the toe of his shoe. "I assure you, Mr. Jackson, that I will not become ill on pie. I will follow your instructions and eat only one small slice, but if I'm still feeling well after an hour," he waved the fork at the table, "I will make an adventure through pie-land and try another." 

His smile widened as he ate. Damn, he was hungry! He did his best to pace himself, heeding Nathan's advice. Nathan handed him a glass of milk. Ezra sighed as he gazed at the white liquid, but drank it along with the pie. He preferred coffee with his pie, but had to admit that the milk was damn tasty. Perhaps Mr. Dunne wasn't quite so ridiculous with his favorite drink.

"Well," JD declared. "You'd better start eatin' decent, 'cause we got a big job ahead of us. We still have all that stuff to organize and we're gonna need you for that." 

Ezra frowned. "The Vineville items haven't been cataloged yet? Surely, the bank manager or someone from the Judge's office..." He dug the fork into the pie again.

"Figured we'd wait for you," Buck replied. They hadn't done much of anything since Ezra had been hurt. Everyone was too busy with other things to be bothered with such frivolous work. "'Sides, we gotta find a way of tellin' the folks 'bout the stuff that got broke and thought you'd be the guy who'd know how to say it so that they'd think they come out ahead in the bargain." 

Ezra considered this as he chewed the next bite. "Where there's a will, there's a way," he said softly and then added, "But aren't the owners anxious to have their property returned?" 

"Ezra," Josiah answered. "A day doesn't go by without a telegram coming in, demanding a response."

"We just tell 'em to hold their water! Tell 'em that they ain't gonna git nothin' if they keep yammerin' at us." Vin added. "Done the trick so far."

Ezra smiled. "Well worded." He returned his attention to the pie. "This appears to be settling nicely. Perhaps next, I'll try the pumpkin," Ezra declared as he made it to the pecan's crust. Ezra could have sworn that the healer was disappointed that he hadn't chosen the sweet-potato. Vin smiled triumphantly. "Perhaps I shall make my way through all of them by this time tomorrow," he added.

"Well, if it's gonna take a day for him to reach mine, I'm gonna have to have a bite of it first," Buck proclaimed as he grabbed a fork.

"Casey's gonna ask if hers was any good," JD concluded and headed to the table.

Ezra waved an invitation toward the pies, forking up another bite. The mob descended on the table.

"Just take it easy, Ezra," Jackson muttered.

"Why, Nathan," Josiah said with a smile. "Tyrone Bakkus got his just deserts; isn't it time Ezra had his?"

Ezra shook his head and grinned as he finished the last bite.

THE END


End file.
